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I charge 5 million bucks an hour, dude.. I'm at my parent's house right now, in my pajamas, watching Comedy Central. I have about thirty pages or so of my book left to read (Pride and Prejudice) and I think Mr. Darcy is about to propose to Elizabeth, despite Lady Catherine's wishes, so I'm pretty eager to get back to the readin'. I'm a sucker for eighteenth century novels by Jane Austen and the likes...they send my heart all a-flutter. As do cheesy romantic songs by Bon Jovi à la "Always", which they are now (or were in '95) performing on an old episode of Saturday Night Live. I remember when that song was popular. I was in seventh grade at the time, and had just gotten picked up by my mom from the skating rink after an exciting night of roller skating. That song came on the radio, and I remember feeling very moved, because I was in love. His name was Chad, and I don't think I had ever said a single word to him. Maybe it was his baggy jeans that pulled me in, or possibly his reputation for doing heroin in health class, but whatever the case I was in love and Bon Jovi was at that moment the perfect soundtrack to my pre-teen notions of romance. I continued to pine after him throughout most of the year, until the day of the last school dance rolled around. Since the next year I was to attend the new middle school that had been recently built and my dear Chad was to stay behind in the old junior high, I felt that I must do something about my love lest it go forever unrequited. The night of the dance, I got myself pumped up on the Mountain Dew that they were serving in the gym, drew in some deep breaths to calm my nerves(which wasn't really affective after all the sugar I had had), and resolved to ask him to slow dance with me, or rather to have my friend ask him for me. I eagerly waited in the dark corners of the gym, away from the masses attempting to mosh to the Offspring, blushing brightly, when my friend Erin came back from her errand. Good news. He said maybe, after Erin pointed out to him who I was. My heart pumping and hands sweating, I sent her back to get a definite answer some minutes later. I could barely speak for fear of his reply, but his "maybe" had been enough to incite hopefulness that I would soon be dancing with him in the dark, thereafter he would profess his love to me, and I would be the happiest thirteen year-old in the world, or at least in the entire state of Ohio. I was nervous to say the least, and as Erin walked back towards me I could feel myself trembling with fear. She reached the dark corner where I had been hiding and unfeelingly related what had happened: Her:"So will you dance with Melissa?" Him:"Who? Oh that girl. She's a ho. Does she charge?" Then there was the laughter from his friends, who then all continued their attempt at starting a mosh pit. I was crushed, on the verge of tears, but too proud to let it show that my feelings were hurt. Shrugging it off, I held up until I got home, and then proceeded to cry into my pillow all night and into the next day while listening to "Only in Dreams" on repeat.
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